Club Harry
by Indee
Summary: Draco won't dance and it's Harry's birthday, so Harry takes matters into his own hands. Pre-existing relationship. H/D Oneshot.


You know, sometimes I think that scowl is permanently affixed to your face," said Blaise Zabini as he took another swallow of his vodka. Draco, who had been scowling at the dance floor of the small club (who even went to clubs these days?), turned his gaze onto his friend. Blaise quickly swallowed his drink and inched away. "Good lord, man, if looks could kill..."

"You'd be dead a hundred times over," Draco answered slowly, before turning back to the dance floor. A svelte red-head was shimmying around _his_ boyfriend in a truly seductive manner and damn it, how could he be so damn _oblivious_?

"Draco, love, maybe if you'd _agreed_ to dance with him..." Daphne was lounging on the seat beside him, her legs tucked beneath her. She'd lost her shoes somewhere around the fifth drink and Draco was certainly not going to go searching through the mess of people crowding the club for them.

"I don't dance," he answered and when Blaise cleared his throat, Draco clarified. "I don't dance like _that_."

"Maybe you should," Daphne waved her hand at one of the servers, raising her empty martini glass in the air and giving it a shake. The server rolled her eyes and took the empty glass from Daphne before disappearing. She tilted her head and watched as the red-head did a particularly... questionable move with _his_ boyfriend. "Wow. That was pretty - I mean, _get a room_."

"Daphne!" Draco snapped. Why did he have friends like these? They were not helping the situation at all. It was rather unfortunate for him that Blaise and Daphne seemed to be the only two friends of Draco's that Harry could stand enough to include in his birthday party. Of course, the birthday party had ended hours ago and Blaise and Daphne had dragged them here - the first exclusive wizarding club in London.

Draco hated it with a _passion_.

To be honest, he would have preferred a muggle club. At least with muggles, he could trust that they wouldn't know his boyfriend was a famous celebrity who had saved the world and all that. They'd look at him and see a somewhat attractive man with dorky glasses and a very attached boyfriend. Here it didn't seem to matter that Harry was his. Everyone wanted their claim on the Boy Who Lived.

And it was definitely pissing Draco off.

"Maybe you need another drink," suggested Blaise. Draco caught Daphne giving Blaise a look. When Blaise wasn't getting it, she leaned over and whispered - though it was loud in the club and her whisper ended in a yell that Draco could distinguish just fine.

"You know how he gets when he drinks," Daphne said, glancing at Draco, who only scowled more.

"You're right, completely. But it could be funny," answered Blaise with a laugh.

That was _it_! Draco grabbed his hardly touch martini and downed the drink in one gulp. The gin and vermouth burned his throat and made him feel rather warm and damn it, why did he let Daphne order his drinks? He hated martinis. But the warm tingle of the alcohol seemed to immediately take effect. It wasn't enough, of course, but Draco could hardly let this go on.

Standing up, he strode onto the dance floor with purpose - which was a bit difficult, what with the women and men all bumping together and jostling him about. One man (hardly that, he didn't even look legal) came over and threw his arm around Draco's shoulder, whispering just what he'd like to do to Draco if Draco gave him half a chance. Draco gripped his wand and whispered under his breath and if he was lucky, that particularly uncouth fellow would have boils for a week.

Finally reaching the center, Draco grabbed Harry by the arm, shooting the red-head glares. He hated red-heads, if only because he knew Harry had a thing for them. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"You wouldn't dance," Harry said, and Draco realized just how drunk he was. Harry still had a glass in his hand and there was a pout on his face. He actually looked quite cute - but that was entirely beside the point.

"So you had to choose the sluttiest red-head in the club, did you?" snapped Draco, dragging Harry away from the dance floor, but Harry was putting up resistance. Of course he was. He never made anything easy for Draco.

"She's a very lovely woman and anyway, we were just dancing."

"Fantastic, why don't you go off and marry her, then?" Draco was irritable and - where did Potter think his hands were _going_? "Stop that!"

"I hate red-heads, you know that," cooed Harry, laughing. He was laughing at Draco, as though this were funny. It wasn't!

"You love them! Them and brunettes!" Well, okay, maybe he was being a bit irrational... Harry was laughing again.

"I don't," Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer. Draco scowled. As if some cuddling would wipe away what Harry had just been doing on the dance floor. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Draco's ear lobe. "I love blondes."

Draco choked. "Potter, your _hands_."

"Yes, what about them?"

"They're - they - we're sort of in public," Draco's throat was suddenly very parched and he felt dizzy.

"So?" Harry was laughing again, but he was laughing against Draco's throat and by G_od_, that tickled.

"How much have you had to drink?" Draco squeaked. Harry pulled ever so slightly away and grinned. Draco hated it when he grinned like that. It was a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. It was the grin Harry gave him whenever he'd done something devious that Draco was bound to _hate._

"Nothing," Harry handed Draco his drink - which turned out to be nothing more than soda. "But the look on your face..."

"I hate you," said Draco. "I hate you so much."

"Funny, I don't get that impression," Harry waggled his eyebrows and his eyes shifted downward. "So about that dance..."

"Fine," Draco breathed, his voice hitching. "We'll dance. But not here."

"I never said we had to dance here," laughed Harry and they apparated straight from the club.


End file.
